Unconventional Bride
From a distance, she sees
the groom in sweat;
moist with tears,
his lips tremble.
At the pace of voices,
she marches;
line of gazes: her path.
The contrast of white
against red;
petals are swept
by her trail.
Behind the lace
she gets a glimpse
of tomorrow
and yesterday.
She kisses her mother, who smiles;
as well as her father, who cries.
Then she reaches the arms
of the man:
august in coat and tie.
Together, they walk the road
made of velvet and wilted rose:
This day, they may be them,
but later, they will be one.
This moment, though,
makes her break;
and mourn like facing death,
for the image of bells and doves
is a mere illusion in her mind.
Today, the coil will be worn,
though not by the lady
in this poem.
For she is the one
in the weathered bench
sitting together
with the wedding guests.
Copyright © Frances Angela Torrelavega | Year Posted 2007
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